


the reckless kind

by paravin



Series: less fight, more spark [5]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Spit Kink, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 10:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30037401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paravin/pseuds/paravin
Summary: Crow and Saladin try their best not to murder each other.
Relationships: The Crow/Saladin Forge (Destiny)
Series: less fight, more spark [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194056
Comments: 22
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for [wrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrack) and [BittersweetBiscotti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersweetbiscotti), who both requested Saladin/Crow. 
> 
> first part is porn, second part is mostly conversation, so feel free to skip to whichever you prefer. 
> 
> dubcon tag is out of an abundance of caution - Crow is v much into it but there isn’t exactly a thorough discussion of consent. 
> 
> also this came out way filthier than I was planning so please mind the tags. (I know I need to stop writing niche kinks for already-niche ships, but for now the clown car trundles merrily onward.)

“I didn’t know it was possible to be so angry at a bagel.”

Glint’s light sweeps over Crow’s dinner but Crow nudges him firmly away. “I am not angry at a bagel.”

Glint hums. “Well, you’re definitely angry. And since I don’t think you’re angry at me, the bagel is the only possible culprit here.”

Crow recognises the joke for what it is, and he takes a deep breath as he finishes chewing. Even the half-mask he has to wear to eat is a reprieve from his usual one, and he licks a stray glob of melted cheese from the corner of his lips as he admits, “It’s just frustrating, dealing with Saladin. Some of the things he says…”

Glint makes a sympathetic noise. “About the Cabal?”

“And about me,” Crow says. “I’m used to people hating me when they see my face; hating me even before that is new.”

“Because you’re being so nice to him in return?” Glint teases.

Crow raises his eyebrows beneath the mask. “Hey, whose side are you on?”

“We’re all on the same side,” Glint reminds him. He bumps his shell against Crow’s bagel, and Crow catches a bite of the filling before it spills. “Maybe you just need some more time with him?”

The thought is not a pleasant one, and Crow wrinkles his nose as he finishes the last of his food. “Or maybe I can avoid him. That’s a hunter thing, right? Avoiding people?”

He barely gets the sentence out before he picks up a familiar voice outside the door to the HELM. “-mean I need a security code? No, I don’t know what the old one is - why would I-”

Saladin’s irritation is clear even through the thick door, and Crow scrambles to his feet as it swings open. 

Saladin’s helmet is in his hand, which means Crow can see the exact second Saladin’s expression darkens when he catches sight of him. “Osiris said I might find you here.”

Crow wipes his hand on his pants and lies, “I was just going.”

Saladin’s gaze drops to the crumpled wrapping that fell to the ground in Crow’s hurry to stand up. “And leaving a mess in your wake, I see. What a surprise.”

An apology sits on Crow’s tongue but he swallows it down. He’s exhausted and irritable and sick of bowing to people who have deemed themselves better than him.

Glint swoops down in Crow’s stead, transmatting the trash away and then vanishing along with it, and Crow mutters beneath the whirr, “Surprised you could see it from all the way up on your high horse.”

It’s quiet enough to give plausible deniability and he can’t help but smirk a little when Saladin asks sharply, “What was that?”

“I just said you’re taller than I expected,” Crow says with feigned politeness. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you in person. You know, outside the _safety_ of your mountain.”

Saladin is also far broader than he expected, made even more so by the shining plates of his armor, and Crow fights the urge to move back when Saladin steps towards him. “If you had any idea how many smart-mouthed new lights I’ve seen over the years…”

Crow raises his chin and meets Saladin’s eyes. “I’m nothing special, right? Is that why you came all the way out here just to yell at me?”

He watches the tick in Saladin’s jaw. “I came here because I don’t believe in letting a challenge go unmet. I don’t tolerate insubordination.”

“Insubordination?” Crow echoes, incredulous. “For asking a question?”

“One you already knew the answer to,” Saladin snaps. “The Cabal should be our focus, not idiotic sniping without our own ranks.”

“Trust me, _Lord_ Saladin, if I had you in my sights, you’d know it.”

Saladin’s helmet drops to the floor. The crash of metal makes Crow flinch and when he looks back up, there’s a gleam of victory in Saladin’s eyes. “Twitchy, are we?”

“Just not expecting a fabled Iron Lord to be so clumsy,” Crow says. He hopes the mask is low enough to cover the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks. “The effects of old age, I guess.”

“Compared with the effects of youth,” Saladin says. “Clinging to a childish morality. Ignoring the sacrifices of those who came before you.” His eyes glitter in the dim light. “Not knowing when to keep your foolish mouth shut.”

He takes another step forward and Crow moves back without thinking. His back collides with the wall and he pushes down the rising fear as he holds Saladin’s gaze. “I thought you liked conflict. Something about it ‘breeding strength’?”

“I _value_ conflict,” Saladin corrects. “But this? The clash between a fly and the hand that swats it can hardly be called conflict.”

“So that’s why you’re here? To swat me?” Saladin is close enough that Crow can feel the burn of the light inside him, and he steels himself against the memory of flaming hammers against bone. “Do it then. I’ll take it as a compliment; apparently I’m enough to make you take up arms where the Red War wasn’t.”

The light seethes in the bones of Saladin’s hands where they fist in the front of Crow’s cloak, and the breath is knocked from Crow’s lungs when Saladin slams him hard against the wall. 

“You little—”

His words dissolve into a noise of fury and Crow closes his eyes as he waits for Saladin to finish it. He’s died dozens of times at the hands of Guardians; the least he can do is try to face it with dignity.

Saladin’s hands flex in the fabric of his cloak, like they’re itching to close around Crow’s neck, but Crow goes still when those same hands shift to rest flat against his shoulders. 

He can hear the quick anger of Saladin’s breathing but rather than a surge of fire, he gets a cold order, “Look at me.”

Crow complies. The fury is still there, coiled in the strength of Saladin’s body, but when Crow meets his eyes, it takes him a second to understand the different kind of heat there.

His lips part in surprise. 

Saladin’s glare is somewhere being requesting permission and issuing a challenge, and Crow opts to respond to the latter. “I can see why you didn’t do this with Ghaul…”

Saladin’s lips are on his before he finishes. 

It can’t really be called a kiss, not with the force of it and the way their lips clash as they fight to set the pace, and Crow tries to ignore the dark little thrill that runs through him when Saladin grips his jaw with one strong hand. 

He lets out an indignant huff when Saladin uses that strength to hold him still, crushing his mouth against Crow’s to take what he wants, but Saladin just responds by wedging one thigh between Crow’s legs to press him harder against the wall. 

Crow’s hands curl around Saladin’s gauntlet, holding on rather than pushing away, and his cock twitches in his pants when Saladin bites down hard on his lower lip. 

He’s flushed and panting for air when Saladin pulls back, and Crow licks the blood from his lip as he says, “Guess the legend of the Iron Lords missed some parts out.” He glances pointedly down at the front of Saladin’s pants. “I wonder how much else is an exaggeration.”

They’re pressed close enough that he can feel the vibrations of Saladin’s growl but rather than the punch to the face that Crow’s expecting, Saladin shoves his hood back to grab a fistful of his hair. 

The movement knocks his mask askew, and Crow stumbles, blind for a second as Saladin shoves him to his knees. The clank that follows is unmistakeable, and Crow shifts the mask back into position just as Saladin’s dick slaps against his cheek. 

Saladin’s hesitation is barely enough to be noticeable, especially as his grip on Crow’s hair tightens, but Crow sees it anyway. 

He knows exactly what’s he’s offering up when he goads, “I thought you wanted me to keep my mouth shut?”

It’s accompanied by a look of faux-innocence that slips into a grin right before Saladin wrenches his head back and pushes home.

“What I wanted,” Saladin says, groaning as his cock hits the back of Crow’s throat, “was to shut you up myself. One way or another.”

The first thrust is ruthless, pushing in deep enough that Crow can’t breathe and then holding him there. Crow’s own cock hardens even as his chest tightens at the lack of oxygen, and he glares up at Saladin to bare his teeth in a snarl.

Even the hint of teeth is enough to make Saladin collect himself. He pulls back but not out, and Crow sucks in a shallow breath through his nose as Saladin’s cock slides over his tongue with lazy thrusts. He tilts his head back, swallowing around the thick length when it fills his throat again, and Saladin’s groan is one of satisfaction this time as he says, “Glad to see you at least know how to do something correctly.”

Crow’s fully aware that his glower is somewhat less effective when Saladin’s balls are resting against his chin, but he makes a petulant noise of protest anyway. 

Saladin’s laugh is low and dark, and Crow drops one hand down to rub his own dick through his pants as Saladin taunts, “I should have known you’d get off on this. You seem the type to enjoy picking fights you know you’ll lose.”

Crow’s cheeks heat at the comment. 

He’s always been a little ashamed of how much he enjoys this. He knows the difference between wanted and not, and exactly where his line of satisfaction is drawn, but as Saladin fucks into his mouth with another ragged groan, he hates just how well this is pressing his buttons. 

Still, if Saladin isn’t shy about enjoying himself, there’s no reason Crow should be. 

He pulls in another breath, gagging a little on Saladin’s dick as he does so, and eases his own cock free of his pants. Even the familiar friction of his own hand is enough to make him moan and he jerks himself faster when he gets a mocking chuckle from Saladin in response. 

“Perhaps I should have done this weeks ago,” Saladin murmurs. He tugs sharply on Crow’s hair, hauling him back off his cock, but seems content just to observe as Crow gasps for air. “Osiris clearly isn’t keeping you in line.”

Crow bristles at that, mostly on Osiris’ behalf rather than his own, but flashes Saladin his most infuriating grin. “Unless you’re planning on doing this full time, I wouldn’t be so quick to assume you’re keeping me in line either.”

From the rumble low in Saladin’s throat, the possibility clearly holds some appeal, and Crow grimaces when Saladin’s spit-slick cock smears against his cheek. 

“Open your mouth,” Saladin orders. “Wide.”

Crow does, holding Saladin’s gaze as his lips form an obedient ‘o’. Expecting to be filled up again, he frowns when Saladin leans down and he lets out a whine of humiliation as Saladin spits into his open mouth. 

Saladin’s cock follows before Crow can voice a complaint, and Crow tries not to think about the heat that unfurls in his gut as he swallows it down. 

Saladin bullies him backwards, kicking Crow’s thigh to make him spread his knees wider, and Crow jolts when he feels something hard behind his head. There’s nowhere to even pull back now, caught in place between the wall and Saladin’s body, and he squirms at the hot rush of helplessness that courses through him. 

Saladin is merciless. His hand stays twisted in Crow’s hair, guiding his head to the angle he wants, and he fucks Crow’s mouth at a brutal pace. Crow’s eyes water at the force of it, even as he strokes himself eagerly, and his cheeks flush with shame as drool runs down his chin to stain the front of his cloak. 

Saladin shudders above him, his breathing getting faster, and Crow lets his teeth scrape lightly along Saladin’s length as a reminder of how much of this Crow is allowing. Saladin hisses out a breath and Crow instantly doubts his decision when Saladin’s foot slides between Crow’s thighs. 

The top of his boot nestles beneath Crow’s balls, providing both a threat and some not-unwelcome pressure, and Crow can’t keep from grinding down against it as he teeters on the edge of his release.

It adds another layer of embarrassment when he comes first. 

Saladin gives him no quarter, keeping him trapped against the wall with his lips stretched wide around his cock, and Crow whimpers as he’s forced to ride Saladin’s boot to completion. His release hits like a fist, a deep pulse of pleasure radiating through him, and his hips roll down against the humiliating friction of Saladin’s leg as he comes. 

Pinned in place by Saladin’s body, Crow can’t even look down at his own mess and so he keeps his eyes forward as Saladin’s hips snap forward with greedy, erratic thrusts.

When he finally comes, Crow swallows down the first gulp on instinct. Saladin grunts above him, still not letting him move, and Crow can’t split the atom of disgust and enjoyment as Saladin spills over his tongue in hot spurts. 

They’re both panting for breath when Saladin finally pulls out. He takes a step back, releasing Crow’s hair to let him slump back against the wall, and for a second, there’s almost a softness in his eyes.

At least until Crow spits a mouthful of come on his boots.

“You—”

Crow smirks up at him, even as he wipes come from his lips. “Remind me, what were you saying about keeping me in line?”

Saladin’s hands curl into fists. For a moment, Crow thinks he’s going to hit him but Saladin just takes another step back and says calmly, “It takes more than one battle to win a war.” He returns the smirk. “Trust me, I’ve won plenty.”

With a last nod, he scoops up his helmet and strides out of the door. 

Dazed, Crow sinks back on his heels as he watches Saladin leave. Between Osiris and his work with the Cabal, he’s learned a lot about battle tactics over the past weeks, but he has absolutely no idea how to fight this kind of war.

Nonetheless, he’s still determined to win it.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re sure this is the place?”

Glint bobs in confirmation but still sounds dubious when he says, “I wish Osiris had told us it would be so cold.”

Crow snorts. “He sent us cryptic coordinates to a mountain. I don’t think a weather update was high on his list.”

The wind is bitter, whipping past Crow’s legs and forcing Glint to huddle close to avoid being blown away, and Crow crooks one arm around his ghost as he shivers. The place was clearly once inhabited, judging by the flags and banners waving above them, but it feels deserted now as Crow trudges through the calf-deep snow. 

“We should try that building,” Glint says, with what Crow recognises as strained cheerfulness. “Maybe there’s something in there Osiris wanted us to see?”

The building is wide and imposing, even against the dramatic sweep of the peak. Between the columns and the neatly-cut stairs, it almost feels like a place of worship, and Crow tries to keep his teeth from chattering as he approaches with caution.

“Is that…”

Glint darts forward to scan the emblem on the door. 

Crow follows close behind. “What is it?” 

“Saladin,” Glint says, surprised. His eye goes wide as he looks up in awe. “I think this is the Iron Temple!”

The name means nothing to Crow but he glances around with fresh trepidation at the prospect of company. “Saladin’s here?”

“No, he’s still back at the Tower,” Glint says, but it’s clear his attention is elsewhere as he inspects the building. “Let’s go inside.”

With a shrug, Crow pushes the door open. The wind is like a hand at his back, pushing him forward, and he follows Glint into the gloom of a large, circular chamber. 

Glint lets out an astonished beep, spinning in place as he scans, and Crow tucks his arms beneath his cloak as he waits for an explanation. “Am I supposed to know what this place is?”

“It’s the home of the Iron Lords!” Glint says, excited. “Or at least it was. Back when there were Iron Lords.”

“Saladin gets the place to himself now? Roomy.”

Glint whirrs. “Wait, I think I can—”

He raises up in the center of the room, shell parting, and Crow blinks as a blue light blooms from him. It ripples around the room, reflecting off tableaus high on the walls, and Crow turns in a slow circle to get a better look at them.

“Oh,” Glint says, sorrowful. “I- I think it’s their story.”

Crow half-expects a narration but Glint is silent as his light traces over the images. 

They’re clear enough on their own, tracing the tale’s path through war-forged friendship and devastating loss, and Crow swallows hard as he thinks of the two lone hands emblazoned on the door. 

“I didn’t—” 

He stops, remembering his latest jibes to Saladin about his lack of allies, and struggles to exhale past the swelling guilt. “I thought they disbanded. I didn’t realise…”

“I know,” Glint says softly.

“What I said to Saladin…”

Glint bumps against his shoulder. “I know.”

His shell is cool beneath Crow’s fingers but even Glint’s hum can’t stop his stomach from churning. Courtesy of his time with Spider, Crow has apologised hundreds of times to someone he dislikes, but somehow it feels more daunting when he’s actually at fault.

“We should go,” he says, and his shiver this time isn’t from the cold. “We saw what we needed to.”  


———

  
Crow tries to apologise.

He still can’t stand Saladin, still bristles with frustration every time Saladin dismisses him and still can’t keep from arguing whenever Saladin brings up the Cabal or the Eliksni, but after their trip to the Iron Temple, he does at least try to express his condolence for Saladin’s losses. 

He even offers up some common ground, the shared knowledge of what it’s like to be utterly alone, but all he gets in response is the crackle of the comm unit. When Saladin eventually speaks, it’s just to order him to report to his office after the mission is over and Crow quickly regrets the attempt at sympathy.

It’s late in the evening by the time Crow makes it to Saladin’s door. 

When he knocks, he genuinely doesn’t know whether Saladin’s invited him there to kill him or if he’s there for a repeat of whatever the hell happened in the HELM the week before. 

Worse, Crow isn’t sure which one he’d prefer.

(Ever helpful, Glint offers odds of 3:1 on murder and 2:1 on sex before he tucks himself away inside Crow’s light to spectate.)

The first thing he notices when he enters is how tired Saladin looks.

Even behind his desk, in a room cluttered with relics, he’s still an imposing sight. With his newly acquired knowledge, Crow can link the images of the tree and the wolves on his armor back to the temple, but the pang of pity is soon tempered when Saladin eyes him with contempt. “It took you long enough to get here.”

Crow lets the door slam shut a little harder than necessary. “The side effects of being out in the field. I can understand if your memories are a little foggy in that respect.”

Saladin’s lips thin. He reaches out to pour himself a glass of whisky and then leans back in his chair to look Crow over.

There are no other chairs in the room, not even a convenient table to perch against, and Crow folds his arms to keep from fidgeting under the scrutiny. 

“Take the mask off.”

Caught off-guard, Crow just stares at him.

“I don’t like having to repeat myself,” Saladin warns. 

There’s a hint of the heat from the previous week in his tone, and Crow swallows hard. “Osiris said—”

“Osiris has too many secrets.” 

The chair creaks when Saladin pushes himself to his feet and he takes a sip of whisky before walking around the desk. He doesn’t touch him this time though, and Crow tells himself his reaction is just surprise rather than any kind of disappointment.

“It won’t leave this room,” Saladin promises. “Besides, I already have my suspicions.”

Crow’s hand shakes a little as he lifts it to the clasps of his mask. After their previous indiscretions, removing his mask around Saladin should be less of a concern, but when it slips free, Crow is braced for the familiar grief and rage anyway.

Something dark passes through Saladin’s eyes. A deeper fury wells for a moment, a spark rising from flint, but it’s snuffed again when Saladin takes a slow breath. For the first time, Crow starts to realise that the anger Saladin displays so frequently is just a fraction of that which simmers inside him, contained and controlled by an iron will.

“Worse than I expected,” Saladin says coolly. “That’s Osiris for you.” He takes another slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down on the desk. “Worse, but manageable.”

Crow can only offer a one-shouldered shrug in response. It’s one of the better reactions he’s experienced, no haunted stares or broken bones, and he slips the mask into his belt as he adjusts to the feeling of cool air on his face.

“I suspect you’ve seen more conflict than most other new lights,” Saladin says, with something almost approaching sympathy. (Almost.) “Evidently not enough to knock some of that naive idealism out of you, but at least you understand the true power of unbridled light.”

“I do,” Crow says. “I also understand the fear you’re so keen to inflict upon your enemies. ‘Unbridled light’ is less inspiring when you’re on the receiving end.”

Saladin smirks. “You speak as though I too haven’t died at the hands of lightbearers. The Iron Banner—”

“The Iron Banner is a game,” Crow snaps. “I’ve seen the feeds, Guardians playing at being predators and prey. They don’t have any idea what that really means.”

Saladin tenses. His hands tighten against the desk but his voice is level when he agrees, “They don’t. But should it ever come to that, they will know the strength that comes from having allies at their backs. They will be better prepared than we were.”

Crow blinks. “Did we just agree on something?”

“Apparently.” Saladin’s smile is somewhere between soft and smug. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, new light.” Smug soon wins. “Once you learn how to keep your mouth shut, that is.”

The awkwardness that has lingered since Crow’s visit to the Iron Temple dissolves, replaced by a more welcome skirmish of sharp edges. 

Crow rolls his eyes as he steps forward. “I forget: wasn’t it you who wanted my mouth open the other night? Or am I misremembering?”

There’s a hungry gleam in Saladin’s eyes. “If you have problems recalling who you get on your knees for, maybe I’ve been going too easy on you. A territory should bear the marks of its conqueror.”

“A second thing we agree on,” Crow says with a grin. He taps his foot against Saladin’s greaves. “How long exactly did it take you to scrub all traces of me off your armor?”

A pleasant shiver runs through him when Saladin growls in annoyance, and Crow holds his gaze as he reaches past him to pick up the glass of whisky from the desk. 

Saladin stays motionless, like a trap waiting to spring, and Crow willingly steps onto the trigger as he raises the glass in a mock toast. “To my victory.”

Saladin’s hand closes around his wrist before the whisky can even touch his lips. The glass crashes to the floor but Saladin doesn’t break stride, moving behind him with surprising fluidity as he twists his arm tight enough to make Crow wince. 

He shoves him forward, bending him over the desk with ease, and Crow glances back over his shoulder with a cocky smile. “That’s a no to the drink then?”

“I’m not unreasonable,” Saladin says, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. “You’re welcome to have a drink.”

His free hand snakes around to tug at Crow’s belt and Crow bites his lip when his pants are hauled down. Saladin’s fingers are like steel bands around his wrist, keeping him pinned to the desk, and Crow groans beneath him when Saladin lands a sharp slap to his bare ass. 

“I’ll even pour you one myself.” Saladin’s breath is hot against his ear and Crow squirms with shameful pleasure at the amusement in his voice. “Just as soon as you earn it…”


End file.
